Tales from a Monstrous High School
by Draggy2013
Summary: A series of one-shots, drabbles, and a few loosely connected stories about Monster High. Based on the doll and cartoon canon.
1. Mirrored Hearts

**A/N:** Since each chapter poster here will actually be a one-shot, every chapter will get its own summary, list of characters, genre, warnings etc. These are also being posted on tumblr, and will more than likely be posted there before here.

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**Summary:** The renowned vampire of hearts ponders over the absence of monster of love from his life.

**Characters:** Valentine/C. A. Cupid

**Warnings:** Kind of a EAH fic as well. A bit of angst I suppose. Feels. Let's go with Feels.

**Totally Rotodisk fault that I ship this. Their artwork, inspires me~ And honestly if you've never heard of them and you like MH or EAH you should look them up on tumblr or DA. Such amazing artwork. Wow.**

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**Mirrored Hearts**

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I am a creature of hearts.

Not a creature of blood like my sisters and brothers. Unlike those that prowl and lurk these halls, thirsting for what beasts in the veins of others, I desire something richer. Something fuller.

A heart, darling.

Precious and tender. The emotions of those that possess pure and loved hearts are invigorating. It gives so much more life to the undead than a drop of blood. Hearts of sadness, joy, anxiety and grief. All emotions are powerful things. But none so enriching as love, my sweet.

To collect a loved heart, shinning, brilliant, powerful, was all I could ever truly crave. A collection to keep me well satiated. My prize and claim on this undead world. My place of power and influence displayed prestigiously upon my shelf.

My power of love.

Now stripped of me.

But I am still a creature of hearts, my pet.

That is why I have found you satisfy me so. Hearts might not have been your born nature, but you've learned them well. There's still error in your aim, but don't we all get swept up in the game? Arrow straight and true or not, there is no denying your heart shines bright and pure. Not just full of the emotions others have poured into you, but the emotions you rain down upon those around you.

A brilliant, powerful love, that is hard to overlook.

My own twisting and conjuring of emotions may have faded in the light of what you call 'true love', but my hunger still remains. You may express that the hearts we crave and shape are stronger than we in the end, you may utter many things, darling, but in the end it holds true.

I crave a heart to consume and you crave a heart to mend.

You are a creature of hearts. And a feast never ending to me.

My sweet, I could lurk every hallway, every haunt, and every graveyard for eternity, and there is not a monster that could compare. What beats in your chest; what emotion lock in your eyes; that sensation pulsates in your body I could soak in down to the marrow of my _bones_, and feel satisfied. Yet still want more.

And what I take and conceal and shatter you do mend so well, my darling. Following after me as I follow after you. We were made for this song and dance. To break hearts and mend them. To feed off the emotional highs and lows of other monsters around us.

That is to say, you and I are right for each other. With me, lurking by my side in the shadows of hearts is where you should always be.

So why aren't you now?

The pinnacle prize of my desire, stolen away through a magic doorway. A mirror. Vanity reflects upon the heart, and perhaps you would tell me I am vain to think that only my heart matters. But that is what I chase them for. My own heart.

Never would Ms. Bloodgood send another with you. And while you send back letters and musings of far off places, and strange normie children that are in fact enchanted, I cannot help but scoff. Surly there is nothing there that holds a candle to the time we had here? There _cannot_ be a heart there that is more eloquent and captivating as my own.

You wound me, my dear, writing with such gleeful joy. Even on your letters, your heart shines true and pure. You do so love mending and spreading your love. I am sure it abounds through that wretched mirror world. And if not you will make it, with your promise of 'true love'. Arrow straight and true or not.

But you know deep down there is no heart there that matches yours. They are children of fables and musings and concoctions of myths. You are a monster. You are like me.

A creature of hearts, not of fairy tales.

So while you spread your bewitched wings and search for hearts' desires among those ghastly inferior bed time tales. I shall carry on without you. You may compliment me, but I do _not_ need you.

Stripped of my conjuring and my twisting of emotions I can still collect hearts and feed my desires without you. I shall not think of you, my dear.

Already in my mind I see my collections growing again. Not of loved and beaming hearts so true, but torn and tattered and abandoned hearts so blackened with neglect and oversight.

Upon my shelf now, I have one already. Our last memento before you went through the looking glass. The panicle of my broken collection. The forgotten emotions of a lover, swept aside for duty and the sake of 'love'.

What better way to start than with the heart of a creature of hearts.

My own.


	2. Cross Stitch

**Cross Stitch**

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**Summary:** Jackson ponders the surreal idea of an undead and human coming together over a few threads.

**Characters: **Jackson Jekyll/Frankie Stein

**Warnings: Some deviousness**

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Is it weird to hope that your girlfriend's hand comes off during practice?

Or that maybe she loses her leg?

Perhaps to someone on the outside the idea seems a bit morbid or unwelcomed. However he'd have to say he's come to enjoy the spontaneous dismemberment of the girl- no ghoul, Frankie Stein. She's stitched together with an assortment of cords and threads and knots and lines. But something always falls off.

In class, in the halls, during fear practice. She loses a hand, a leg, her foot, an entire arm. It's occasionally funny, very rarely serious, and sometimes intentional, but it always requires a quick fix. And at some point in time during their days up and down the gothic purple and grey halls and the green splatter colored classrooms stitching up her loose limbs had become a joint activity.

No pun intended, for once.

So at today's fearleading practice, when her rouge left hand carried itself from the top of the fearamid and into the captain Cleo De Nile's face, it was no surprise that within second she was seated on the bleachers ready to stitch herself back together.

"You don't _have_ to come to every fearleading practice, you know that, Jackson?" The ghoul made from an assortment of reanimated parts spoke up as he rifled around in her case for the proper thread. It was such a common occurrence that they carried around a small sewing case with everything Frankie needed for when she lost a part.

"Ah, no, I don't mind…" He pulled out a spool with a thin silver twine spun around it. With his head down his black framed glasses were steadily sliding down the edge of his nose. "It gives me time to do all my Biteology homework before I get home. As soon as I hit the door Mom insist I let Holt work on his Monster Music Theory homework so he's not keeping the neighbors up late into the night with the noise."

He lifted his head and pulled out a needle that was slightly curved. Helping the teenage mad science project stich up her body had helped him learn a few things about sewing he'd never thought he'd ever have to apply. It did come in handy outside of putting body parts back together. If any of his sweaters tore, he now had the skills to fix them. Jackson raised the needle with a smile and grabbed the end of the thread, he held it up at eye level and slipped the end of the thread through the eye in one go.

"Oh," Frankie leaned forward, black and white dangling over her right eye, "You're getting faster." She extended her left arm, presenting the stub that was her wrist, and held out her left hand with her right.

"Well, I've had a few cardigans that tore, and a sweater vest that snagged on Manny's horns, and-"

"Again with Manny?" She asked as he lined up her wrist and arm.

"He was just charging, and I was just lucky enough to be exiting the Creepeteria at the time." Frankie continued to stare at him, her eyes scrunching a bit at the story. It caused the stitching in her cheeks to swell just a bit but he only chuckled at her and set to work reattaching her hand.

Jackson pierced the needle through Frankie's soft green skin and pulled the thread. Over and under, across and back.

By all means, Frankie could do it herself. A hand stitch was a quick and easy repair. She could do it one handed, blindfolded and in the dark with how often she was separated at the wrist. Yet somewhere along the line, stitching her up had gone from a solo to a duo activity. Maybe because Jackson insisted he wanted to help. And at the times when the lining on the back of her neck popped or the underside of her elbow, it was useful to have a second pair of hands.

After so many patch ups here and there, he started to patch her up everywhere when they were together. And make no mistake, at first it was strange. Putting a body back together; closing a cut or a tearing hole, and there was no blood. There was no warmth. Inside the cross sections of Frankie Stein there were things, body parts essential to movement and support. But they weren't all so similar to his own.

Over and under. Across and back.

Parts of a skeleton, recovered and artificial muscles, a nervous system made up of undead nerve bundles and thin copper wires to charge electricity through the girl, and platelets of metal here and there. To hold her hand, often resulted in a shock, and if she rubbed her hand across his usually wool covered shoulders just so there was a jolt.

Skin on skin contact left that tingling feeling like static filled his every nerve or a kiss left his face numb for minutes.

But there was no warmth.

Over. Under.

There was feeling and excitement, and his heart would race faster. But there was no pulse when he held Frankie's wrist. Her eyes light up and sparked, literally sparked, with delight, and her voice was electrified with laughter. But there wasn't a heartbeat. When she put her head on his shoulder in the silent theater, there wasn't the sound of her breathing, if she coiled herself around his arm while they walked, there was no thumping in her chest. Even if there was one in his.

The blood she made boil in him, wasn't there in her. A cut or a break of her body that would put him in the hospital was as simple as to fix for her as digging around in a little sewing box.

It was the strangest thing. The strangest, most curious, most troubling thing.

Across.

He had started to worry, as time had gone on, that his life and her unlife were too different to come together. Even for Holt, wouldn't it eventually come to a halt? He wasn't a member of the undead, he was fire elemental. He'd never bothered to ask his brother what he thought about the fact that the ghoul's body was what it was. Holt would never bother to think so deeply on a subject.

All he ever knew was that Frankie was fine. And he wanted her.

Back.

Perhaps it was the fault of being the 'normie' between the three of them. That he thought about mortality. That he thought about the blood in his body and the heart in his chest. He couldn't ignore them when Frankie was around. And he feared that the very things that alerted him to just how dear she was to him would be the things that ultimately kept them apart.

Over.

Maybe that's why he started out so eagerly wanting to help her with her body. There was something to it, to getting this close together, a strange awkward intimacy to it that didn't matter if he was alive and she technically wasn't. It was at times as embarrassingly nerve wracking for her as it was for him. Though he still didn't know how her cheeks turned a darker green with the absence of blood.

Under.

But sitting together, tight and close, while one held a limb in place and the other sewed kept the thought of their differences far from his mind. The repair was something they shared in. The threads pulling her electrified skin together, pulled them together and stitched them into one. His mind didn't question the lack there of, only focused on parts that were there.

Across.

The parts that consisted of she and he. The color of her skin contrasted to his, despite having no fluid to it, it was just as vibrant as 'alive' as his own. The current of electricity that pulsated under her skin had a rhythm that almost matched his heartbeat. The way her fingers curled and stretched anxiously while she waited matched his own internal apprehension about their affairs.

Back.

For everything about Frankie that was far removed from Jackson, there were just as many things about her that paralleled in him. Things he sometimes over looked in his hesitant worry that a ghoul and a human were a strange match. Hesitant worries that faded away when he got the opportunity to sit close and think easy, only thinking about the thread and needle in his hands and what best stitch would suit his ghoulfriend for the situation at hand.

Over and under. Across and, "Done." He let go of her wrist and watched as Frankie shook her hand.

The reanimated ghoul grinned at him and brought her hand close for inspection. "Hey! I know this stitch; I demonstrated it in Home Ick."

"Well," Jackson put her repair thread and needle away, "I figured what would work better than your own techniques?" The human teenager adjusted his glasses, they'd reached the end of his nose by now.

"You know, if you're getting this good at stitching, perhaps we can try to make a friend for Watzit for our Mad Science Fair Project? I'm thinking something big enough to ride on." The ghoul raised her hands in the air in a wide arch and looked up. "And wings. Oh! And hooves for the back legs. And a second head on its tail…"

Jackson rubbed the side of his neck. That idea sounded like it would probably land them in Headless Headmistress Bloodgood's office.

"Frankie!" The electrified ghoul was snapped out of describing her monster pet project, which was now up to three heads, by the calls of her fear captain. The Egyptian princess, stood with her arms crossed and foot tapping. Her long black hair was pulled forward in a ponytail over her left shoulder. "If you're done, _falling apart_, then get back up at the top of the fearamid . That Monster High Spirit Sparkler display isn't going to light itself! So get up there, and give it some juice. I want the crowd the see that fearamid lighting up from space!" She uncrossed her arms and pointed over to the rest of the fearsquad.

"Oh, right, Cleo!" Frankie stood up balling her right hand into a fist and swinging it in front of her chest with her usual 'can do' attitude. "Don't worry, I'll make our routine the most voltageous in the monster world."

Jackson watched as Cleo rolled her eyes and turned her back to the bleachers, "Just get back in line, Frankie."

The human boy waved to her as Frankie darted off form their seat back over to join her friends while Captain De Nile began delegating out orders. Jackson set the sewing kit aside and dug into his own bag to pull out his Mad Science text book. He started thumbing through looking for ideas on what kinds of creatures they could use for Frankie's project idea. He slightly glanced up over the top of the book as the ghouls started their next round of practice and smirked.

He did think that between the two of them her idea would be easy to carry out. Frankie had the skill for planning such things and he had proven he'd gained the skills for assisting in constructing them. After all, he'd gotten so good at his stitching that she hadn't even noticed he purposely left a quarter of an inch gap between the final stitch and the start of the line ensuring it give way again before they parted ways today.

He looked back down at his text book and started to flip through it.

Is it strange to hope that your ghoulfriend's hand falls off before you have to go home at the end of the day?


End file.
